Liberation and Lavender
by 1337nik
Summary: Two American soldiers find themselves stranded in France during Operation Overlord. (WWII AU)


"**Liberation and Lavender**"  
By JO Lee / 1337nik (© 2013)

**Prompt**  
Switch the genre of _Supernatural_. (SPN – Verse challenge 24.)

**Warnings**  
War related violence (including injuries), language, medicinal drug and alcohol use.  
**  
Disclaimer**  
This is an unauthorised work of fiction featuring characters from the series _Supernatural_ – but with a twist! I claim no ownership of the above and I'm making no profit of any kind. Original concept and characters, however, are mine.

**Dedication and Thanks**  
To CaptainOcie and pornographicrainbowlegs for listening to me ramble, feeding my ego, and keeping me sane. Ish. To the Internet, just for existing. And to caffeine, because I've had far far too much for one lifetime.

* * *

**Part One**  
"Home and Away"

John Winchester first learned about France because of a bottle of smelly purple water his mother kept on her nightstand. He wouldn't have gone into her room except she'd taken his radio, his one source of entertainment, for goofing off instead of mucking out the horse stalls. He tried to explain about Babe Ruth's last game but she didn't care.

He snuck back into the house while she was in the kitchen, too busy chopping onions to notice him. Heart in his throat, John tip – toed into his parents' room and rooted in the dresser where he knew she liked to keep gifts hidden. His mother liked to sing as she cooked - when she stopped suddenly, John panicked. As he turned to run or dive under the bed, he accidentally bumped the nightstand and the bottle fell and shattered against the warped wood floor, which soaked up the perfume like a dehydrated man at an oasis. Before John could gather up the broken pieces of the bottle and salvage what liquid remained, his mother appeared at the door. She looked at him, the glass in his hands, the stained floor, and burst into tears.

His father whupped him good when he heard what had happened. The pigs enjoyed John's dinner because, "They'll appreciate it more."

John finished his chores in silence except for the growling in his stomach. When he finally got back, his mother was sitting in her chair, patching an old dress so she could get a few more wears out of it. The whole house smelled like her now. John approached her with his head hung low.

"I'm sorry, mama. I'll buy you some more. I have $2 saved up."

"It's not the perfume, Duckie." John tried not to look embarrassed when she used the nickname he'd borne since he was two. "You couldn't find it here anyway. My grandmother brought it with her. She picked the lavender herself in Valensole."

"What's Valensole?"

"That's the village she came from, in France. I used to sit in her lap and listen to her talk about where she grew up. She always smelled so nice, so I imagined that's what the whole village must smell like. I've wanted to go there since I was a little girl."

His mother smiled.

"When I miss her, I spray some of it on my pillow. Your father hates it. Even makes his clothes smell like damn flowers, he says." She laughed.

John had always assumed this was his mother's natural scent. He couldn't imagine an entire village smelling like her. The scent lingered in the house for a long time after the accident, and every time he went inside, he'd close his eyes and picture his mother and her grandmother picking lavender in France.

* * *

He never thought he'd see it in person, let alone bleed to death fifty miles from its capital. John didn't remember much of the attack. The Allies moved swiftly after landing in Normandy, but despite losing more and more ground daily, the Nazis clung fiercely to what they had left. John's squad was in charge of checking the rubble for survivors. They weren't expecting a German unit to do the same.

They were shelled hard but they gave it right back with equal ferocity. John blew three of them off their legs with a grenade. Bobby, his second set of everything since they were kids back in Kansas, shouted something about wiping his ass with Adolf's tongue. Everything after that was black.

* * *

John came to with a rumbling in his ears. At first, he thought he was back on the plane over the English Channel. Seated between Frank and Jim, across from Bobby, they debated who was going to win the World Series. It was barely worth paying any attention; all of the good players were fighting with them. Caleb still bet everyone five cigarettes and a real Hershey bar that the Browns were going to take it because it was about time. They all laughed and took him up on it.

He soon realised that the laughter he heard was in his head; the only real sounds were the roar of an engine and the squeak of shocks. He saw the swastika by his head at about the same time that his brain registered the worst pain he'd ever felt coming from his leg, and together they made his stomach turn itself inside out onto the bed of the truck.

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

"Have a nice nap, Duckie?" the driver called over the engine. John had never been happier to hear that stupid nickname.

"Bobby?"

"Well, I ain't your mama."

"Sometimes I'm not so sure . . ." He laughed and regretted it when another wave of nausea hit him. "Why the hell are you driving a Nazi truck?"

"Not like we got a whole lot of options."

"How? You don't speak German. Or read. Or . . . I don't know."

"It's a goddamn truck, it goes forwards and backwards no matter who made it. I guessed right the first time."

"You guessed . . ." The terrain under them suddenly grew rough and jostled them around the vehicle. John blacked out again for a few seconds; when he came back, Bobby was saying what a goddamned baby he was being over a little scrape no worse than one he'd get sliding into home.

"It feels like I slid into a fucking chainsaw!"

The road evened out and the pain ebbed enough to let John think a little clearer. It seemed strange that he heard no one else moaning in pain or yelling at him for acting like a skirt.

"Where's Sarge?" he grunted.

"He's dead," Bobby said grimly.

"What about Frank?"

"Dead."

"Caleb and Jimmy?"

"They're all dead, John! I think there's a bottle of Schnapps back there. Drink that and shut the fuck up, I'm trying to get us out of here alive."

John fumbled around for the bottle but, if it was there, he couldn't reach it. Something else occurred to him as he thought about the Schnapps and the truck.

"What happened to the Krauts?"

"I made sure they didn't get out."


End file.
